


The Charge

by angelsnak3s



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Next generation - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mystery, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsnak3s/pseuds/angelsnak3s
Summary: On the eve of Scorpius Malfoy's unholy return to Hogwarts, Rose and her friends must deal with buried secrets and dark magic, and reconcile a past too close for comfort. Slow-burn mystery with eventual Rose/Scorpius and other minor pairings.





	The Charge

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written and published work, so bear with me as I find my bearings! A few things to note: my original characters are Georgina Goyle, Blake and Thatch Zabini, Hazel Finnegan and Thayer Nott. Any similarity to other OCs are entirely coincidental and as of right now, I don't think I've read anything with those particular names. Also, rating is General right now, but will be Explicit later on with details of violence, sex and language. There will never be any depictions of non-consensual sex.
> 
> Pls read and share your thoughts, any are welcome! :)

_‘Was it true that time seemed to slow in winter?’_ Rose carefully joined these words into cursive, onto the parchment in front of her. The library was quiet and warm, and it was that time of year that mornings had the quickest breath, and daylight quickly succumbed to darkness, and afternoon became evening, and night into further night. It was dry and cold outside the castle, but lights and lanterns made it festive, and snow made it beautiful. Mist and fog captured Hogwarts, and the castle seemed to float in the sky, but tethered, like a balloon. And although the festive chaos was cause enough, there was something off-kilter which caused many sleepless nights and whispered strange, mad thoughts into forlorn minds. Rose often found herself walking past old ‘missing’ posters and black puddles that seemed to boil at her presence.

_Was it true that time seemed to slow in winter?_

Rose seemed certain of this, when she eventually untangled herself from the armchair and stretched. She was the last one, and the lights had dimmed almost completely, except for the last light on the back row, which had been blinking madly for the past three hours. The light looked of muggle origin, as her grandfather had dedicated his entire life to the integration of magical and non-magical objects, but it wasn’t of muggle origin, and it wasn’t blinking of its own accord. Rose shoved her books into her bag and made for the exit. The fresh air was a welcome change and upon arrival to her warm green and silver house, she was reluctant to leave it. Familiar, rushed voices spoke of the upcoming Gryffindor versus Slytherin match, and a fire crackled in the background as she was welcomed back by many familiar faces.

Rose returned the greetings and walked quickly through the common room and up the stairs to her dorm. She was in no mood to socialise; the moon was in full, at its apex in the sky, and the pulsing ache at the bottom of her neck was growing more prominent. At the same time, she could feel _them_ near her, reaching out with sentient restless hands, desperate to feel her veins and taste her heart, and live inside her marrow; desperate to be alive. Rose dumped her bag on the floor, rolled her neck and stretched. Someone was due.

“ _Calor_ ,” she said, and the dark room sprung to attention; all candles lit and all windows steamed, accompanied by a nice, thick atmosphere of spiced apple pie. She eased onto her bed and sprawled back. Rose lived alone and had done for many years, so everything in her room belonged to her, and everything in her room was just the way she liked it. The rocking chair in the corner – a marvellous oak gift – began to move back and forth; Rose paid it no mind. She exhaled and felt her chest relax. It had been a very productive day; although a raven had crashed into a window she was standing beside as she peered the shelves for _Verity’s Soothing Oils_ and ultimately killed itself. It had been blind, she was quickly told, and it wanted nothing more than death.

Then, she heard loud, hurried movements and a fevered voice shout through her door. “Rose. _Rose_.”

Rose was still, blinking slowly. She yawned. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Georgina Goyle.

Georgina continued. “Rose. I know you’re in there. Look out the window. Look out the window.”

And when silence followed her exit, Rose knew Georgina was gone. She looked lazily at her double-paned windows, steamed by condensation, and sighed. No doubt Georgina had cast some festive spell, and some kind of magical hologram was flying around the sky in a sleigh led by several griffins. Rose liked a good show as much as the next witch, but she wasn’t fanciful like her fellow peers. She’d seen too much.

When Georgina had returned last fall, the school was a hotbed for rumour and gossip. Rose remembered the day vividly: there was a light breeze and the sky was golden without direct sunlight, and there were little clouds to forewarn her of this sudden return. She had been reading—god knows what—but she could remember the hot lump in her throat as she was informed by some snotty little second year who wanted Rose to pat her on the head for being a good little messenger. It was a long walk to the Great Hall. Rose had battled angry, sinful thoughts. She had a good poker face.

All eyes had been on them as they approached each other.

“Rose.” Georgina had exhaled the name with bated breath.

Rose had smiled back; an empty gesture. She let the moment stretch, and then she finally embraced her, and felt the slight relaxation of Georgina’s shoulders.

“It’s good to be back.” Georgina had said.

Rose had fixed her with an honest, intimate stare, and twisted a strand of Georgina’s hair around her index finger. “I’d hate for you to leave again.”

Georgina had received the casual threat with a subtle blink. Quietly she said, “I’m not here to make trouble.”

Rose had straightened with an exhale. At least Georgina was the lesser of two evils.

A voice brought Rose back to the present: “You should really look, you know.”

Rose looked scornfully at the figure in the rocking chair. It was an old woman, with red, horrible boils on her face and dead, black fingertips. She’d died recently in her house. They hadn’t found her for days.

“Get out.” Rose said, but the woman was already gone. The window beckoned her, and she made her way quickly.

_Was it true that time seemed to slow in winter?_

Rose seemed certain of this, when she stood at the window of her warm, cosy dorm room and rubbed the condensation away. Time seemed to slow in front of her and rip the current exhale of her breath away. Tight, hot lungs contracted inside her ribcage. A rush of scared, anxious emotions dowsed her like a bucket of cold, icy water. She was rocked forwards and pressed her forehead against the window.

Miles below her tower on the ground, through the hollow mist, she saw a tall figure walking through the courtyard, towards the castle. He looked almost small in their distance apart, a fact Rose tried to tell herself, but she could have spotted him a million miles away. He had never looked so frightening.

 _Two years,_ she thought. _I’ve had two years of peace._ _Now I am doomed._

**X**

 

News of Scorpius’s unholy return had reached every inch of the castle by morning.

It was a short walk to the library, and not a coincidence that the place would be quiet with everyone in the Great Hall, desperate to catch a glimpse of the previously missing Malfoy. Rose had barely slept, fingertips tense and jaw locked, crying between moments of stillness and introversion. The common room buzzed with noise until the early hours of the morning, and she eventually cast a silencing spell. She was thankful to be alone, thankful that nobody could see the devastation on her face, or the depth inside her eyes. One look by the wrong person, and she would betray herself.

Blake Zabini was waiting outside the library. She glowed when she saw Rose; the promise of gossip in her eyes. “You’re late.” Blake said. She was leant against the doors in boredom; long sprawling legs restless in wait, now stood to attention as Rose approached.

“I didn’t sleep.” Rose said.

“I heard. His majesty returned from the cold last night.” Blake confirmed. “Probably got tired of slumming it on the streets, being from royalty and all that.” She often referred to the war heroes’ offspring as royalty. It was not a compliment.

 _The streets._ Rose grimaced. That’s not where he’d been. If Blake noticed her terse expression, she said nothing. Instead, her eyes flickered to their default curiosity, and she told Rose, “She’s inside, alone. Pince is in her office, though.”

Rose nodded. “Make sure we’re not interrupted.”

Blake opened the library doors for her, and Rose was enveloped by the stench of warm, musty parchments. Silence followed the long echo of an opening book, and she trailed the sound to the back row of the study tables.

Hazel Finnegan was perched on the edge of the table, a book in one hand, and using her other to support her uncomfortable stance. Rose noted this as pretence, because Hazel’s skirt was hiked up and her legs were ungracefully uncrossed.

“If your skirt went any higher, someone might see your pot of gold.” Rose mused.

Hazel slammed the book shut and gave Rose a simple, coy smile. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

“I don’t mix business with pleasure.” Rose said, and even as she spoke these words, she couldn’t help the wander of her eyes, or the wonder of her mind.

“That’s a pity.” Hazel replied.

They stared at each other for a hot, tense moment, and then Hazel said, “This is what you’re after,” and held out the book she’d been pretending to read. It was incredibly old and blackened, and leather-bound and worn from years of use, and it reeked of whiskey. Rose held the book in her palms and immediately felt its power. It screamed out to her. She looked at Hazel; did she feel it too?

“Thank you.” Rose said, and she meant it.

“Be careful.” Hazel said, pointing at the book disdainfully. “My great-grandfather swore that book was cursed, but only by those who could read it. I mean, he did lose his mind in the end, but he was a serious wizard. He even kept it buried beneath his house, protected by all sorts of charms and incantations.”

“What happened to him?” Rose asked.

“When he died, the spells dissolved and my family found it sitting on the kitchen table, like it was waiting for them.” Hazel said, although her tone was slightly disbelieving. “They didn’t indulge in any of the stories, but they were cautious enough. I’m lucky they did the same thing and buried it beneath my house. They’ll never look for it, or know that it’s gone.”

Rose stepped towards Hazel. “Wait, you said the book was cursed only by those who could read it; do you have to be Finnegan-born to understand the words?”

“You’d think, since its Finnegan-made.” Hazel said, “But no, no, I’m not sure how it works. All I know is, my great-grandfather could only read certain parts, and his father before him. It’s like, the book is only able to grant you access to certain parts, if it thinks you’re worthy or something.”

Rose held the book tighter. _That was new_.

Hazel smiled suddenly; her white pearls were dazzling. “Look at you, Rose Weasley. You look like you’ve just won the lottery for bad news.”

Rose had forgotten herself for a moment, and let her features scrunch up. She relaxed, and looked at Hazel with calm. “So,” she started, “have you decided what you’d like in return?” and she tried to keep the implication from her tone.

“Yes, I have.” Hazel answered. She considered herself and said, “Sometime soon, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer, and reassurance of your honesty, with a truth spell.”

Rose exhaled. She had wondered, once, if Hazel might suspect anything, but the moment had passed and nothing had come of it. And yet, on the heels of Malfoy’s return, and holding a book that thrummed in her hands, her past was too close for comfort. She was composed, as she said, “I accept.”

Hazel sighed, almost in relief, and Rose both envied and desired her incandescent beauty. A rustle from the foyer drew Rose’s attention, and she turned to see Madam Pince; the thin and hardy librarian.

“Good afternoon girls.” Madam Pince said, yet it was morning still.

“Lovely weather we’re having.” Hazel said, while the sound of unrelenting rain clashed against the window.

“Yes.” Madam Pince agreed. She moved through the study tables and disappeared into the back shelves.

Rose gave Hazel a fleeting look, one that said, _don’t follow me out_ , and once she was sure her message had been received, departed the library.

Blake was sat on the stone archway opposite the library, swinging her legs back and forth, and chatting amicably to a girl Rose recognised but didn’t know. Blake saw Rose, departed her company, and jumped off the wall.

“That took a while.” Blake fell into step with Rose and gestured to the book in her hands.

“Yes.” Rose agreed. She was preoccupied by her own thoughts.

“I wish you’d tell me why this is so important.” Blake said quietly, but she didn’t expect an answer and Rose knew this. Blake continued, “Anyway, I have a feeling we should be careful.”

Rose quietly agreed. They should all be careful.

 

**X**

The Great Hall was relatively empty for lunch that afternoon, and Rose was late. People were looking at her more diligently than usual, as if they might be able to pluck scandalous thoughts from her mind. Everywhere she went, fevered whispers and loaded looks chased his name in the air: _Malfoy_. _The one who ran away._

Blake was sitting and eating beside her brother Thatch, while Georgina sat opposite Thayer Nott. They had their heads inclined, talking. Most likely it had everything to do with the upcoming game against Gryffindor that week, but it made Rose anxious still, to see Thatch and Thayer, eyebrows furrowed and lips tight. She wasn’t used to them looking like that; she’d really only seen it once before.

“Rose.” Blake greeted warmly when she saw her, and Thatch moved aside so Rose could sit between them. Rose knew that look anywhere; Blake was exhausted with Georgina.

“So, how was your day?” Georgina asked. “Poison anyone?”

It was an inside Slytherin joke, dated back many years. Rose could hardly remember the exact details that originated the joke, but it received a few smiles and acknowledgements from the table.

“Still early.” Rose quipped, and Blake laughed.

“Where’s Al?” Thatch asked, interjecting at just the right time.

“Field, practising.” Thatch said between mouthfuls. “He said he’d miss lunch.”

Rose glanced at Georgina. It was the day before Slytherin played against Gryffindor, and tensions had been rife between the houses since the announcement. Players spent every spare minute on the field practising, and for Al, it had become an obsession.

“How are you feeling about it, Georgina?” Rose asked.

Georgina was stiff in her quick reply. “I feel great, thanks for asking,” she chased this quickly with, “Oh but Rose, you’ve barely touched your dinner.”

It was true, a whole plate of untouched pasta and cheese. Not that Rose had noticed it.

“This quiche is amazing.” Georgina said suddenly, “Here Rose, try some,” she held her fork out.

“For some reason, Georgina, my appetite seems to have fled me today.” Rose said coldly, in a tone that warned, _don’t push it_. For one hot, angry moment, Rose thought about reaching out to strangle Georgina, wrapping her fingers around her neck and squeezing until she choked and the quiche spilled out of her mouth. _Choke,_ she would say. _Choke, choke, choke._

Georgina smiled knowingly, and went back to her plate. Their friends ate comfortably amongst the tension; a trait in their Slytherin blood. Rose seethed. She clutched her fork and pressed her fist into the table. She wanted to say something, to split Georgina in two and—

“Did you know,” Rose started, quiet and low, “that Malfoy was back?”

Their immediate friends were silent, while the rest of the Slytherin table continued amicable conversation. Thatch and Thayer exchanged a look. Blake twirled a lock of curly dark hair, curious sharp eyes focused on Georgina; Rose thought them catlike.

Georgina’s face crumbled. “I swear, Rose,” she whispered vehemently, “I didn’t know he was coming back. I didn’t even know he’d been _found_.”

It wasn’t a question of being _found_ , Rose knew, only a question of when Scorpius wanted to return.

“Have you seen him?” Thatch asked her.

Georgina shook her head. “Not yet, but Florence saw him leaving McGonagall’s office this morning. She said he looked empty.”

Rose’s lips clenched. “Perhaps he’s hiding.” He eluded them still, as he had eluded his family for two years, but now he was back and still hiding— _always_ hiding.

“More like lurking.” Thayer muttered.

“What’s the deal with him and you guys?” Blake asked suddenly, and it was so direct that Rose felt hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

“Blake.” Thatch said warningly.

Blake continued. “I’m sorry, I just don’t understand why you all get so weird every time he’s mentioned.”

“Bad memories, let’s just leave it at that.” Thayer slammed his fist on the table.

“Find me, if you see him.” Rose said, concluding the conversation.

She saw Al as soon as she left the Great Hall. He was sitting between a stone archway, overlooking the school grounds. It was dark even at this time of the day now, and Rose watched her cousin watch what little sunlight remained disappear behind the Forbidden Forest and vanish from sight.

It was always cold these days.

She approached him quietly. “Don’t jump.”

Al, a perpetually startled looking individual, turned with unusual composure. He always seemed sad these days. “Rosie.”

She _loathed_ that name.

His hair was messier than usual, ruffled from sliding his hand through it umpteen times a day, and his trademark frames were slightly lofted. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but skinnier, which irked her to no end.

Rose settled at the opposite end of the archway. “I thought you’d be on the field; big game tomorrow.”

“Malfoy’s back.” Al said.

“Thank you for stating the obvious.” Rose replied.

“Do you know why?” Al asked. His cheeks were red, his lips wet.

“No.” Her voice was hard. There were very little things concerning her life that she didn’t know, and this bothered her.

Of course, everyone would ask— _why is he back_ —instead of asking the most important question of all: _why did he leave?_

“I’m worried.” Al said quietly. He tried to clear his throat, but it sounded more like a whimper.

“Everything will be fine.” Rose said. “You just have to act normal.”

Al grimaced, but he nodded eventually, and exhaled.

“I have class.” Rose said, but she didn’t. There was a moment that she thought Al might say something about that night, or what happened, or what they did, but he didn’t, and she felt relieved.

She wondered how long that would last.

 

**X**

_Was it true that time seemed to slow in winter?_

Rose exhaled evenly as she ran, chasing one foot with the other in a fluid, stable pace that carried her around the castle and down onto the vacant field. The moonlight glistened against the frozen pond, and beneath the thick shard of ice, blue and red fish sped across in quick zaps of colour. The crunch of feet against frozen grass was enjoyable, and it was so cold her exhale carried a cloud of mist that seemed to glitter like floating stars.

The sky called her attention that night; how velvet and silken it looked from her tiny place on earth, that she might reach up to the heavens and trail her fingertips across its wet canvas. There was a curfew for students, but she was a prefect and had decided this justified her extracurricular activities. Whether the Headmistress would agree was another matter entirely. She had been running for over an hour when she realised. The wind picked up, and she just knew.

Halting her movements to regain breath, Rose saw the shadow of a long thin figure on the frosty grass, mingling with her own. She didn’t know where her shadow stopped and his begun. She was still for the longest moment. Then, his shadow disappeared into itself. Rose spun on the spot, and the field was empty. The chill slid down her spine and into every crevice of her body.

“You’ll catch your death out here.” A smooth, melodic voice echoed around the empty space.

“Not if I catch you first.” Rose said.

His laugh travelled to her ears, and finally Scorpius Malfoy slipped into her peripheral; as if he’d just slid into existence from the void. He was breathtakingly beautiful from a distance, but up close the true danger revealed itself; his cheekbones sharp and hollow into the slope of his face.

“Did you miss me?” He asked, standing tall and still like the root and trunk of a very wise, old tree; dominating the space around him, comfortable in every season.

“I missed your owl.” Rose spat. Her neck pulsed, and she was angry beyond disbelief. So many times she’d imagined this conversation, all the things she would say to him, and now that it was here, she had no idea what to do with herself.

“He died.” Scorpius answered blankly.

Rose felt justified to observe him openly. He looked so much older than she thought he would; like something other than time had aged him. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken and dark, and there was a look on his face that was so unfamiliar. She took note of his short hair—almost to the skull—and wondered what his parents made of that, and of him. Even the way he moved was so _inhuman_. The cutting thinness of his form and broad shoulders made him slippery and snakelike. Rose couldn’t help but imagine his former self—her former friend—standing beside this incarnation. It was pitying.

It seemed he was observing her in return. “You’ve grown, Rosie.”

 _And you’re so different,_ Rose thought. Her limbs felt numb to movement. She hoped he felt the same; their distance was the only thing keeping her safe. _Where the fuck have you been_ struggled against carefully crafted chains, however she asked, slightly breathless and distracted, “Why did you come back?”

“It was time.” He said.

“What about Georgina?” Rose asked. She focused on a spot behind him; staring directly at him was starting to make her ill. So much time apart, her eyes weren’t used to him anymore. They didn’t want to acknowledge his existence.

Now Scorpius seemed bored. “Georgina’s not important. She’s a rodent, sure. Unnecessary, but survivable.”

“Did you—” Rose’s stomach lurched, “—bring it with you?” She was baiting him to mention that _wretched_ little book.

“I did not.” He said, matter-of-fact. “It exists no longer.”

She didn’t believe him.

“You shouldn’t have come back here.” Rose warned, resolute. She couldn’t bare his presence a moment longer and started back towards the castle.

“No Rose.” His voice echoed across the field, rippling through the grass leaves and cold air, “I shouldn’t have left.”

Rose turned around—to scream, to bare her teeth, to do _something_ —but the field was empty, and he was gone.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
